


Rory's Secret Admirer.

by LarkandLioness



Category: Shades of London Series - Maureen Johnson
Genre: Christmas, Christmas Party, Christmas Presents, F/M, POV First Person, Secret Admirer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 21:10:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17251457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LarkandLioness/pseuds/LarkandLioness
Summary: Someone knows the way to Rory's heart is through birds and food...or is it?





	Rory's Secret Admirer.

"Miss Jones?"  
Oh, right. That was me.  
The delivery guy peered intently at me. "Are you Alexia Jones?" He asked again.  
"Um, yes?"  
He held out a clipboard and pen. "Sign here please."  
My curiosity got the better of me, and I wrote my name -- my _new _name -- down__  
"These are for you." The delivery man said as he gave me a leafy bouquet of orange flowers. "Happy Christmas!"  
He was gone before I could say anything.  
I closed the door and looked at the flowers. All of them were a vivid, happy orange. They looked like cheery orange daisies the longer I looked at them, but there were a few fiery roses almost hidden in the bouquet too.

I counted three...four, five, six of them. I lifted it to my nose and was carried away by the sweet, heady scent.  
Who would want to send me flowers? And why?

I stuck my hand in the mesh wrapper and pulled out a card. There was no name, no words, on it. Just a picture of a partridge in a pear tree. I dug a glass jar out of the cabinet, filled it with water, and put the flowers on the table. I sat down with my chin in my hands as their scent slowly filled the room.

I heard Stephen's long, light stride just before he came into the room. His eyes widened slightly when he saw me. His gaze darted from me to the jar of flowers, and for a second he paused at the doorway. Then the moment passed, and he came toward me.  
"Rory." He said, very direct. "What are those?"

Definitely flowers. "What do you think?" I asked him.  
"Where did they come from?"  
"I don't know where roses and dasies originally come from, but a guy just gave them to me."  
Stephen narrowed his eyes and gave them a wary look. I made a flying leap of logic. "You think this is a trap?" I asked, stunned. I didn't think Billy Mack, the crazy survivalist back in my hometown of Bénouville, would think this was a trap.  
Stephen cleared his throat and averted his eyes. "We're celebrating Christmas at the flat this year." He changed the subject.  
"We are?"  
"I'm afraid nobody's family plans line up this year." He said apologetically.

I let that sink in for a moment. Back in Bénouville, if you didn't have anywhere to go, or anyone to celebrate Christmas with, you ended up at the pancake house, where someone always invited you to Christmas dinner, where you awkwardly hovered at the fringes of the crowd who mistook you for a weird twice-removed cousin.

I guess I always thought Callum and Boo's relationships with their families weren't good, since they hadn't called, even during the Ripper scare, but then again, I _had _just met them back then, so it wasn't like they had a reason to bring it up.__  
"Boo has several brothers, and Callum usually goes home to visit his mum." Stephen added. It was almost like he could read my mind.  
Stephen didn't have anyone, but instead of feeling sorry for himself, he was doing this. My heart broke even as I fell a little more for him.

The next day, there was another knock on the door, and another mysterious delivery for me: a smooth black box with a shiny red bow wrapped around it. I tugged off the ribbon, very concisous of Stephen in the room as I opened the lid. I gasped as the tiny diamond eyes of two BEAUTIFUL silver turtledove twinkled up at me.

Stephen lifted his head to look at me. I quickly ducked, and snatched the ribbon from the floor. A card fell out, and with sudden cat-like reflexes, I caught it in mid-air. My eyes scanned it, and my heart began to pound. This card was as blank as the last one. The only thing on it were two birds. One had its head and wings protectively and lovingly over the other.

The theme continued. A delivery man stood outside our door as he balanced a large bucket of chicken on his head, and held two more in his arms."These are for Alexia Jones."  
"I didn't order these." I said, confused.  
They came with a card with nothing but three French hens on it.

I had a sleepless night, partly thanks to all the chicken.The flowers and earrings _might _have been a given to me as a mistake, but the chicken could only mean one thing...__

I shivered as I scurried down the street to get coffee. Even with two pairs of socks on under my boots, thermals, a pair of earmuffs on over my hat, and the thickest winter coat I could find, I was freezing.

Finally, I saw the bakery I discovered a few months ago. It was a homy place, large enough to be noticed, but small enough to be cozy. I hurriedly pushed the door open, and let out a happy sigh. I let the heat sink into my bones as I looked around. The place was painted in honey-yellows and rich browns. Clusters of tables and chairs all faced a large window that looked out on the street.

_If there was snow, and plenty of lights and holly strung on a long row of gas lamps outside, it would look magical. _I thought.__  
I couldn't help but linger longingly over the treats as I fingered the few coins in my pocket. I frowned. I had just enough money to make a coffee run. I turned away, and placed my order.  
I got a funny feeling when the cashier paused. "Wait, you're Alexia Jones?"  
"Yes..."  
"Hold on, I have an order for you!" Before I could say anything, a small box was in my hands. I looked at the card attached. Five golden rings were on it. My heart skipped a beat. "Do you know who placed the order?" I asked.  
She smiled apologetically. "Sorry, no."

One the sixth day, I almost tripped over a colorful Easter basket filled with grass and six Cadbury eggs as I went out the door. Nobody was in the hall.

The seven beautiful white chocolate swans lined up outside the door the next day reminded me of my Uncle Bick.  
One summer back home, a bird got trapped in our vents. We heard it beat it beat frantically against the metal walls as it tweeted desperately for help. It broke Uncle Bick's heart. He tore everything apart to rescue the little guy, but he couldn't really wrench anything back together. After a few drinks, everyone knew we had a pile of metal scraps and pipes lying in the middle of our house, until Big Al, of all people, came from the pancake house, and fixed it as a favor. At 6am.

This wasn't _exactly _like that, but I just...needed a moment.__

__


End file.
